...I'm a bit of a jackass. Here's a look at the first paragraph of a paper I've just written for one of my grad classes:

In an ideal world, ruled over by an all-knowing meritocracy of dictatorial rainbows and kitterns, each child would have a personalized, telepathic literacy computer grafted onto the inside of their skulls to rewrite all incoming sensory experiences into the most satisfying and intellectually stimulating input possible for their own individualized needs, interests, and abilities. A teacher reads Chaucer in the original Middle English and a state-mandated seventy-five students receive pitch perfect recitations of Monster, House on Mango Street, the latest Harry Potter, and whatever other books might be best suited for each particular child. (Of course, the state mandates seventy-five students because once you've achieved the impossible task of knowing every student to a nanotechnological degree of certitude, what do numbers matter?) Here in this perfect world, where every student knows only what they need to know and knows it to perfection, the teacher is merely a formality and school is just a comfortable communal setting for the youngsters to gather and jack-in.

Bitter? Me? No.